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the hint of a connection to him would be fatal, since prac-
ticing black magic against the Pharaoh was a capital offense.
 Ramses is adamant about finding this stranger, added
Ahsha.
 Probably some illegal Hebrew immigrant. He could be
the one who led Moses into exile. I ll wager that both of
them are gone for good.
 I agree. Ahmeni is pursuing the matter, though, and
he ll give it his best try, especially after his fiasco with
Serramanna.
 Do you think Serramanna will forgive him?
 He seems more likely to hold a grudge.
 They say he was framed? Shaanar ventured.
 Some Syrian paid a prostitute to plant the evidence,
apparently. Later he killed her to keep her quiet. It s also
certain that a Syrian forged Serramanna s handwriting on
the tablets that were supposed to prove he was a Hittite spy.
A clever ploy, though rather too easy to see through.
Shaanar was finding it difficult to stay cool.  Which
means . . . he said blandly.
 Which means there s a flourishing spy ring here in
Egypt.
Raia, the Syrian merchant, Shaanar s key contact, was
also in danger. And Ahsha, his other major partner, was
intent on tracking Raia down!
148 Christian Jacq
 I ll have the State Department pursue the investigation,
if you like, he offered smoothly.
 Ahmeni and I will take care of it. It s better to move
cautiously so as not to alarm our prey.
Shaanar took a healthy swallow of white Delta wine.
Ahsha would never know what a valuable service he was
providing.
 I can tell you about one major figure that s in for some
serious trouble, the young diplomat told him, amused.
 Who?
 Romay, that big man who runs the palace with an iron
hand. Serramanna has been watching him, and he s con-
vinced that Romay should be in prison.
Shaanar felt punch-drunk, like a fighter who d suffered
one blow too many, yet he managed a blithe smile.
He d have to move quickly, very quickly, to stay out of
the gathering storm.
Twenty-five
he end of the annual inundation was fast approaching.
TThe peasants had refurbished the plows they would
hitch to a pair of oxen and use to dig shallow furrows in the
loose river silt. Since this year s flood level had been ideal,
Ramses: The battle of kadesh 149
neither too high nor too low, the irrigation experts had
plenty of water in reserve for the dry season. The gods
smiled on Ramses. Once again this year, the granaries were
bursting and the Pharaoh s people would eat their fill.
Romay, the palace steward, could not appreciate the mild
late October weather, cooled by an occasional squall. The
more he fretted, the more he ate. With his troubles growing
by leaps and bounds, Romay s increasing girth made it dif-
ficult to keep up his frantic pace. From time to time he was
forced to sit down and catch his breath.
Serramanna was keeping him under constant surveil-
lance. When he couldn t tail Romay personally, he sent one
of his brawny henchmen. They were easy enough to pick
out in the palace corridors or around the market stalls
where the chief steward still insisted on selecting all the
ingredients for the royal kitchens.
Once Romay would have taken pleasure in composing a
new recipe from lotus root, bitter lupine boiled in several
changes of water, zucchini, garbanzo beans, garlic, almonds,
and tidbits of grilled perch; now even this delightful
prospect failed to make him forget he was a hunted man.
Since his acquittal, the giant bodyguard had been over-
stepping his bounds. But Romay could not protest. When
your heart is heavy and your conscience troubled, peace of
mind is a rare commodity.
Serramanna had a pirate s patience, waiting to pounce on
the first false move from the puffy, black-hearted steward.
His instincts hadn t failed him: for months he had suspected
the man of spinelessness, the fatal flaw that leads to the
150 Christian Jacq
worst betrayals. Although he had gained a high position,
Romay had not proved immune to greed. He craved riches
as well as the small measure of power he wielded.
The constant surveillance was taking its toll on the
steward s nerves. Eventually he d crack under pressure, per-
haps even come forward of his own accord.
As Serramanna expected, Romay hadn t gone to the king
with complaints about being watched. If he were innocent,
he wouldn t hesitate to do so, a fact the Sard stressed in his
daily reports to Ramses.
After several days of this treatment, the bodyguard
would ask his men to take over Romay s surveillance, but
remain out of sight. In his relief, Romay might rush to con-
fide in his partner in crime the one who had bribed him
to steal in the first place.
The bodyguard reported to Ahmeni s office well after
nightfall. The secretary was putting away the day s scrolls in
a large sycamore cabinet.
 Anything new, Serramanna?
 Not yet. Romay is tougher than I would have thought.
 Are you still mad at me, Serramanna?
 Well . . . what you put me through is hard to forget.
 It would do no good to offer my apologies again, so let
me offer you something better. Come have a look at the tax
rolls with me.
 Are you officially involving me in your investigation?
 Exactly.
 My anger is melting away like a bad dream. Let s get
going.
Ramses: The battle of kadesh 151
The bureaucrats in charge of the Pi-Ramses tax rolls
were so meticulous that it had taken them several months to
reach the same production levels as the Memphis branch.
Getting used to a new capital, making a record of proper-
ties and buildings, and identifying the owners and tenants
all demanded a great deal of verification. That was why
Ahmeni s request, though classified as urgent, had taken so
long to fulfill.
Serramanna noted that the director of the department,
a thin, bald man over sixty, looked even more sickly than
Ahmeni. His pasty complexion was proof that he was a
stranger to sunshine and fresh air. The bureaucrat wel-
comed them with chilly formality and led them through a
maze of stacked wooden tablets and pigeonholed papyrus
scrolls.
 Thank you for seeing us at this late hour, said Ahmeni.
 I guessed you d require the strictest secrecy.
 You were right.
 I hope you don t mind my admitting that your request
made extra work for us, but we finally did identify the
owner of the property in question.
 Who is it?
 A merchant from Memphis called Renouf.
 Do you know his home address? [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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